To Lose Oneself
by Begoogled
Summary: An incident with a Nausicaan crew leaves Reed to question his decisions. COMPLETE!
1. Chapter 1

**To Lose Oneself**

Summary: An incident with a Nausicaan crew leaves Reed to question his decisions.

* * *

Disclaimer: I don't own Star Trek or any of its characters. This is all written for non-commercial enjoyment. 

A/N: This story is for Volley. I think her 'Friend In Need' stories have been rubbing off on me. : ) And thanks for letting me borrow Ensign Müller!

Many wonderful thanks to my beta Kathy Rose!

Also, please forgive me for any technical inconsistencies with the weapons used in this story.

* * *

Lt. Malcolm Reed was pacing his quarters with resolute strides. Four steps to the door, turn, four steps to the desk, turn. He hardly seemed aware of his movements, as his eyes stared without seeing at the floor. One arm was gripping his side tightly as if to warm his body from a cold only he could feel. His right hand had moved to his face, rubbing the dark short stubble that he had not thought to shave.

As a tactician, he was unable to stop the flow of thoughts that made him relive the day's events. Strangely, it did not start at a critical point in time, but many hours before that…

888

"I don't understand why the captain finds it necessary to bring them on board." Malcolm kept his voice low as he spread a generous amount of peanut butter on his pancakes. Breakfast was in full swing on Enterprise, with the mess hall filled to capacity.

Hoshi Sato took a sip from her tea before replying. "I think he's just being a good host. Commander Tucker did say their main power systems were 'on the fritz', and their climate control was acting erratically as a result. He estimated he needed half a day before the repairs were complete."

"The only Nausicaans we've come across before were pirates or wayward prisoners. Not really a complimentary record," Malcolm responded before taking a bite.

"I agree with the lieutenant," Travis piped up. "They're not exactly a peaceful species." He flavoured his eggs with salt and pepper, and then leaned forward to say in a conspiring tone, "Or very pretty." This elicited a giggle from Hoshi and a snort from Malcolm.

After their merriment died down, Malcolm's face became serious again. "Still, I want a security detail following them every second while they're on this ship." He cut another portion from his pancake. He looked the others in the eye as he said, "I don't want any incidents. Not during my watch."

888

The door chimed, and Malcolm absently registered that it was probably not the first time that it had done so. A muffled sound came through the closed door. "Malcolm, it's me, Trip." A pause, then, "Can I come in?"

Malcolm reached for the panel, and the door to his quarters opened with a hiss, revealing Tucker who had been about to push the chime again. In his other hand, he was balancing a covered tray. Malcolm's stomach rumbled as he picked up the spicy smell of chicken curry. He had not gone to the mess hall for dinner, acutely aware of what had taken place there this afternoon, and not ready to face the dubious looks and hushed conversations his appearance would provoke. Of course, his friends would not let him wallow in self-pity. He felt a stab of anguish. He was not worthy of their friendship. He turned away from Trip.

As if Trip had heard the thoughts going through his mind, he said, "Hoshi mentioned you missed dinner tonight. She was worried about you." He placed the tray on Malcolm's empty desk.

Of course she would, the kind soul that she is, thought Malcolm. It saddened him that Hoshi had witnessed his offence. Then a low growl escaped his throat as he realized that half of the ship's crew, including the captain, had witnessed it too.

Trip continued, his voice sounding concerned. "Hey, you have me worried."

Silence stretched between them, save only for the rhythmic beating of his boots hitting the deck plating. It had an almost hypnotizing effect on him.

_He was standing unobtrusively in a corner, observing the Nausicaans at the buffet table, and the crewmembers that were interacting with them. Sergeant Kemper was standing at attention near the door. A loud laugh from the Nausicaan captain, who was talking with Captain Archer and Hoshi made him shift his attention for a moment…_

"Malcolm? Can you stop the pacing for a minute?"

Malcolm lifted his head in surprise to look at Trip. He had forgotten the man was standing only a few feet from him. Suddenly, he felt very tired. He let himself drop wearily on the bed.

Trip's voice sounded almost anxious. "Malcolm, talk to me! What happened?"

"Did you know that there were six Nausicaans on that transport? And only four of them came on board Enterprise?"

Trip narrowed his eyes. "Yeah, their engineer and a guard, I think, stayed on the ship to oversee the repairs," he said carefully as he pulled out the chair from the desk and settled himself into it. "They were a bit rough around the edges, but grateful anyhow." He blew out a huff of frustration. "I didn't know something had happened while I was gone, not even when T'Pol ordered me and Eddie to return to Enterprise."

Malcolm leaned back against the wall, bringing up one knee. "I don't think even T'Pol was fully aware of the situation." His voice was quiet and pensive as he recounted the events of that afternoon.

888

Something had been niggling in the back of his mind all morning in the armoury. Not sure what was bothering him, but unable to put it to rest, Malcolm had finally gone to the bridge. When he had asked the captain for a moment in private, Archer had grudgingly given him permission for the security measures, as long as the MACOs kept a low profile.

"We don't want to provoke them," the captain had said pointedly.

Malcolm had had to agree. They both knew how volatile Nausicaans could be. But he had silently fumed when Archer had instructed the MACOs to only carry their EM-33 pistols, and no phase rifles. Heeding the feeling of unease he was experiencing, Malcolm had argued his case in spite of Archer's wishes. He had tried keeping his tone of voice deferential, even though he felt otherwise. "Captain, are these Nausicaans to be trusted? Who's to say that they aren't marauders?"

"I don't think their ship is big enough to hide stolen cargo, or armed well enough to threaten a boomer." A patient smile had appeared on Archer's face. "Malcolm, I appreciate your caution, but this is a simple case of helping out our neighbours." He had clapped Reed on the shoulder, dismissing him.

After Malcolm had failed to instill the captain with a sense of wariness, he had asked Ensign Bernhard Müller, his second-in-command who was on bridge duty, to run a full sensor-sweep of the Nausicaan transport, making sure that no enhanced shielding or hidden weapons had been added to the standard light armour of the vessel. No such enhancements were found, but there were scorch marks on the sides and aft of the spacecraft. This had prompted Malcolm to instruct his SIC to keep a close eye on the sensors for any ships nearby. The tall ensign had read his commanding officer's expression of concern, and had complied with a nod.

Malcolm chose Sergeant Kemper and Coporal Romero to accompany the group, not only for their markmanship, but also their skills in hand-to-hand combat. Malcolm handed them their EM-33s, checked his own phase pistol, then led them to join Archer and Sato at the airlock.

TBC

* * *

Reviews are appreciated! 


	2. Chapter 2

Thank you for the kind reviews!

* * *

The tour went surprisingly well. The Nausicaan captain was open and inquisitive, and while Malcolm had first thought he was looking for classified information on Enterprise' vital systems, that did not seem to be the case. The tall alien told them tales of his own experiences in space, and was impressed with the beauty and efficiency of his host's ship. His loud, booming voice filled the cramped corridors through which the party moved from deck to deck. 

His three companions were a contrast in their silence. Malcolm quietly named the tallest Fezzik, for his large stature made him almost bump his head in the doorways. Then there was Prince Humperdinck, who wore a bright red leather sash. Malcolm wondered what it was made for: weapons, tools, or a symbol of an honourary title? And if the last, why did the captain wear none? Lastly, there was Vizzini. Malcolm rolled his eyes. Watching "The Princess Bride" during last week's movie night had been Trip's idea.

Vizzini, the smallest of the Nausicaans, but still a head taller than Malcolm, finally showed some interest when they visited sickbay. He asked so many questions of Phlox that the good doctor, recognizing a colleague, requested he stay with him for an in-depth discussion on the topic of tissue regeneration. Archer supported the exchange heartily, and Malcolm had no choice but to order Corporal Romero to stay with the doctors.

Their final destination was the mess hall, where Chef had prepared a buffet with a diversity of dishes from the region. Malcolm noticed the characteristic scent of Vulcan Pok Tar and the sweet aroma of Denobulan sausages. A wide variety of Earth cuisine had also been placed upon the table. Perusing the fare, Malcolm could not detect any strange or suspicious edibles to offend the sensitive palate. Then again, some species don't need much to be offended, he thought darkly.

He positioned himself in a corner, nodding to Kemper to stay near the door. He did not want to appear conspicious, giving their guests room to relax and enjoy themselves, but not too far away, in case a quick response was needed.

The mess hall was already filled with a dozen crewmembers, who all seemed curious about the small delegation, since many of them had never met members of the Nausicaan race before.

Captain Archer invited his guests to sample the buffet, which they seemed to accept gratefully. Fezzik and Humperdinck were busy filling their plates with chicken wings and sausages as if they had not had decent food for weeks. Malcolm shrugged; they were having problems with their climate control, maybe their cooling storage had given out as well.

The enticing smell of roasted meat permeated the room, and the low rumbling of his stomach made Malcolm stand a little straighter. He wasn't going to succumb to the succulent chicken wings, freshly baked bread with butter… and were those mushy peas? He shook his head to clear his wandering thoughts as his hand reassuringly touched his phase pistol. He probably had misread the situation, and the Nausicaans were in no hurry to raid Enterprise. But that did not mean he was free to loaf around, and that included eating.

He looked at Fezzik, who had speared a chicken wing with his fork, and tried in vain to eat it with an awkward show of old-fashioned, upper class manners. Liz Cutler was standing next to him, plate in hand, looking up at the tall Nausicaan and trying to strike up a conversation. Malcolm was surprised when Fezzik stopped eating, looked Cutler in the eye, and nodded with a small smile. Well, at least someone is able to get him out of his shell, Malcolm noted drily.

Humperdinck had already finished his first plate, and was now discovering the delights of Asian cuisine. Malcolm was astonished at the amount of food the Nausicaan was piling onto his plate. Chef would be pleased.

There was still no sign of Phlox and Vizzini, and Malcolm was becoming concerned that something was amiss. He looked over at Kemper near the door as he took the communicator out of his pocket. He was about to contact Romero in sickbay when the booming laughter of the Nausicaan captain made him turn his head. He relaxed slightly when he saw the smiling faces of Hoshi and Archer, but a fierce growl and the sound of tableware hitting the deck made his head snap around. His hand was immediately on his phase pistol, but he did not draw the weapon completely as he assessed the scene in front of him.

Both Fezzik and Cutler's dinner plates had fallen to the deck, and their colourful content had spilled on the floor. The food left artistic traces on the white cloth of the buffet table as well as on the uniforms of anyone in close proximity. Fezzik and Cutler however, did not seem aware of the mess they had created.

The towering Nausicaan was clutching Cutler's upper arm, dragging her closer to him. He had thrust his face close to hers as his enraged eyes seemed to bore into her frightened ones. Cutler's feet were barely touching the floor. A deadly silence fell over the mess hall.

"What seems to be the problem?" Archer's voice was calm yet demanding. The Nausicaan captain seemed less controlled as he simultaneously thundered in indignation, "Kartaak! What are you doing?"

Kartaak alias Fezzik did not look away from Cutler, who was still in his vicelike grip, as he replied in a voice heavy with anger. "This human insulted me with her scornful comments on my honour!"

Malcolm slowly eased the pistol out of its holster, making sure that his movements were surreptitious. A quick look at Kemper assured him that the MACO was ready and waiting for his signal. He glanced at Humperdinck who was staring openmouthed, a spoon halfway to his mouth forgotten, at his angry colleague.

"Kartaak, we are here as guests! There's no need to be rude and abuse their warm welcome!" The alien captain seemed more irritated than worried about his crewman's behaviour. "Let the woman go!"

But instead of letting go, Kartaak gave Cutler a shake and shouted, "Is it an Earth custom to treat other species with contempt and call them vile names?" Malcolm's eyes widened, and a startled gasp went out from the crowd as they saw the fork in Kartaak's hand. It was a simple utensil, but its sharp prongs were pointed directly at Cutler's bare throat.

"Kartaak!" The Nausicaan captain sounded surprised to Malcolm. This was getting out of hand.

Archer held up his hands complaisantly as he soothingly said, "We can talk this out. There's no need to threaten a member of my crew."

Cutler's feet were still restlessly searching for solid ground as she whimpered, "I'm sorry….I don't know…what…I'm sorry…"

Kartaak let out a sneer. "Do you still think that I am a coward? Now you know that I do not make idle threats."

The last words had barely left his mouth before a beam of red energy struck him in the abdomen, while another discharge hit him in the side. Kartaak screamed, letting go of Cutler and the fork as his hands covered his stomach. He dropped to his knees, let out a groan as he keeled over, and lay still.

TBC

* * *

Because it seems a winning formula, I'm giving out real Dutch stroopwafels if you leave a review! 


	3. Chapter 3

I'm not sure if it was because of the stroopwafels, but I really appreciate your reviews!

* * *

"Everybody stay where they are!" Reed commanded. He still had his weapon aimed at Kartaak while he motioned with his other hand for Kemper to remain at the door, in case another threat arose. The Nausicaan captain and Humperdinck seemed shocked into silence, but it was possible they might not agree with the proceedings in a minute.

He slowly moved towards Kartaak as Archer came closer as well. The captain helped Cutler back on her feet as he quietly asked, "Are you all right?" Malcolm heard the tremor in her voice as she replied, "I'm…I'm okay, sir."

Malcolm holstered his phase pistol, knelt beside Kartaak's unconscious form, and checked for vital signs.

The level of noise in the room was rising gradually as crewmembers started to recover from the incident. Malcolm could hear them speculating amongst themselves as to the cause of the seemingly unprovoked attack on their kind and always-cheerful colleague. Then Archer's voice overrode all others. "I better contact Phlox that he has a new patient." The captain moved towards the comm panel. "Archer to sickbay."

Malcolm couldn't find a heartbeat, but that was not wholly unexpected, as Nausicaan and human physiology probably were different. He was turning the man over to check his breathing when he noticed scorch marks on the leather tunic. Malcolm looked closer, inhaling sharply. There was a gaping wound partly visible through the layers of cloth and leather. "Captain! Medical emergency!" he shouted as he desperately began searching for any sign of life.

Archer was still talking to Phlox when Reed's cry rang out, and the doctor responded with a brisk, "I'm on my way."

"What's wrong, Lieutenant?" Archer's voice rose above the murmuring of the curious bystanders. But before the captain could move, the comm panel beeped. _"T'Pol to Captain Archer."_

Malcolm looked up from his frantic search to see the captain punching the reply button forcefully. "Archer here," was his terse answer.

"_Captain, internal sensors registered…"_

Archer did not let her finish. "T'Pol, I want extra security to the mess hall. And get Trip and his team back on Enterprise!" he ordered.

Malcolm did not hear T'Pol's reply. There was no respiration, no pulse. He did not know the extent of the Nausicaan's injury, but he had recognized the type of wound, and feared the worst.

"Is he… dead?" Malcolm's eyes widened as he looked up into the concerned face of the Nausicaan captain.

The doors to the already crowded mess hall opened and Phlox entered, followed closely by Vizzini and Romero. Behind them were two of Malcolm's teams, led by Ensign Müller.

As Phlox moved towards Malcolm, Archer began issuing more orders. "Ensign Müller, I want this mess hall cleared. Hoshi, take Crewman Cutler to her quarters. I want to talk to her later."

Hoshi, with an arm around the other woman, nodded. "Yes, Captain." Cutler still seemed to be in a daze, and said nothing.

Malcolm rose to his feet, and took a few steps back to give both doctors some space. Seeing Vizzini here had given him a spark of hope. Perhaps a Nausicaan doctor would have a better chance to save this man's life.

As both doctors worked on resuscitating Kartaak, a security team efficiently cleared the mess hall, while the other team stood watch near Humperdinck and the Nausicaan captain. Both Nausicaans seemed confused by the proceedings, but peered with concern at their lifeless comrade. They had yet to make any violent overtures for which Nausicaans were famed. Perhaps not all Nausicaans were like those they'd previously had dealings with, Malcolm thought.

As for himself, Malcolm was standing straight as a ramrod. He wanted to fold his arms, but his hands were dirty with the splattered food from Kartaak's clothing. Not that it was of any concern to him how his uniform looked at the moment, but in a twisted sort of way it felt as if he would be wiping off Kartaak's blood. He wearily dropped his hands to his sides instead.

When Phlox finally rose from kneeling on the stained floor, he did not wear his usual smile. He looked at both captains and somberly said, "There's nothing we can do for him. He suffered severe trauma to vital organs, including the liver and stomach." He looked down on the lifeless Nausicaan with regret. "I'm sorry."

The finality of the message hit Malcolm hard, and a mix of guilt, anger and sorrow rose like bile in his throat. At the same time, however, it struck him as odd that the Nausicaan crew was still calm, and did not react with outrage at the news that their shipmate was dead. Maybe shock had made them passive. Maybe they didn't understand what had caused Kartaak's sudden death. Or who was responsible.

Stepping closer, Archer asked in a gruff voice, "What caused it?"

Phlox opened his mouth to reply, but Malcolm answered first, his voice subdued. "Phase pistol fire, sir."

"Lieutenant?" Archer's voice held a note of disbelief, as if he expected Kartaak to open his eyes again, while Enterprise's armoury officer would smirk and say, "Fooled you, sir!"

Malcolm replied carefully. "I believe it was phase pistol fire, sir." He could feel the captain's eyes rest upon him, and finally looked up.

The Denobulan doctor looked from Archer to Reed, and did not miss the tension between them. He wanted to pacify both officers, but the stark truth was lying at their feet. Phlox soberly explained, "The lieutenant's assessment may be correct. It seems the impact of a high-yield energy beam burned a hole through the muscle tissue, rupturing a portion of the larger intestine on its way, and puncturing the upper part of the stomach… consistent with weapon's fire."

Malcolm wanted to turn away from Archer's searching look, but the captain held his gaze for what seemed like a lifetime. Malcolm's heart plummeted as Archer's facial expression turned cold. Then Archer called out, "Ensign Müller, Sergeant Kemper."

Malcolm's SIC stepped forward. "Captain?"

Kemper came to stand at attention next to Malcolm. "Sir!"

Archer looked sternly at Müller, and it was to the latter man's credit that he didn't flinch. "Ensign Müller, I hereby order you to investigate this incident. Find out what circumstances led to the violent outburst of our Nausicaan _guest_," the last word was spoken with a stab of anger, "and his subsequent death. Start with Crewman Cutler."

The captain stood rigid, but fierce indignation was radiating from him. Müller acknowledged with a firm nod, but was hesitant to leave, sensing that the captain was not finished yet.

Archer looked at Malcolm. "Lieutenant Reed and Sergeant Kemper, hand over your weapons to Ensign Müller."

Malcolm quickly wiped an oily hand on his pants leg, and then handed his holster to Müller, who looked decidedly uncomfortable.

"What is their current setting, Ensign?" Archer's voice was low, and he seemed to form the words with difficulty as if he was afraid of the answer he would receive.

Müller quickly looked down at Malcolm's weapon. "Lieutenant Reed's phase pistol is set on stun." He turned Kemper's sidearm over in his hand. "Sergeant Kemper's EM-33 is set on stun as well."

The captain's jaw was set, but he gave a short nod. Then he looked at Malcolm and Kemper and said tersely, "Until this investigation is completed, you are both relieved of duty."

Malcolm had expected as much, but the actual words from the captain still felt like someone had punched him in the head. His mind reeled with recent memories: time spent in the brig not so long ago, with bitter words spoken by Jonathan Acher, the captain to whom Malcolm Reed had pledged his full loyalty.

Malcolm was confused and needed time to think, but his training kicked in and took over. Outwardly, he still looked like the prim and proper armoury officer.

As if they had prepared for the occasion, both Malcolm and Kemper straightened to their full height, looked straight ahead and answered, "Yes, sir!" They left the mess hall together.

Malcolm did not speak to Kemper during their short ride in the turbolift, as both were lost in their own thoughts. But right before the doors opened on D deck, he felt compelled to encourage the MACO. "Sergeant."

The man jumped to attention. "Sir?"

But Reed couldn't find the words to ease any discomfort of the man. He did not know how to reassure himself. Kemper will be all right, though, he thought. He has friends who will share his burden. And Malcolm was sure the MACO's worries would soon be over.

Instead, he nodded, holding the other man's questioning gaze. Kemper nodded in unspoken acknowledgement, and marched out, his head held high. Military men are not always used to mincing their words. Better, then, to not say anything at all. It was a Reed tradition as well.

As he entered the soothing solitude of his quarters, Malcolm let go of his professional façade, and leaned against the bulkhead, suddenly exhausted. He closed his eyes, but was immediately bombarded with snatches of impressions, images and sounds. It all came in a jumble, and only provided him with the beginnings of a headache. Opening his eyes again, he noticed the dark stains on his clothing.

Malcolm took a long shower, letting the hot liquid spill over his cold skin until the small bathroom was filled with steam. Out of routine he started to change into a clean uniform. Suddenly realizing what he was doing, he half-heartedly pulled out a grey shirt and black slacks.

Not able to stop the train of thoughts that kept battering against his conscience, he started pacing his quarters, searching for any memory that would provide a clue to what had caused the tragedy of that afternoon. It was how Trip found him many hours later.

TBC

* * *

Press the little button…yes….right there…. 


	4. Chapter 4

I want to thank all who have been reading and reviewing my story. This will be the final chapter. I hope it is satisfactory in answering all your questions!

* * *

"So, now you know what happened." Malcolm finished his account with a listless wave of his hand. He had been so absorbed in his recounting of the past events that he had not noticed Trip's reaction to the news. Now he was faintly surprised to see the normally talkative engineer very subdued. 

"Trip?" Malcolm asked carefully, not sure of his reaction. There was no reply.

Unable to listen to the awkward silence any longer, Malcolm put it bluntly. "There's no question, Trip. I killed him."

That shook Tucker out of his pensive state. "How can you be sure? Couldn't it have been Kemper's EM-33? They sometimes give nasty burns."

Malcolm shook his head, and then answered gravely, "No. I clearly remember firing. The beam hit him right in the abdomen. Sergeant Kemper was standing to the left of my position, near the door. He could never have hit the spot from there."

"But it was an accident. Maybe your gun was not calibrated after cleaning?" Trip suggested tentatively.

Malcolm frowned. "I supervised the last maintenance myself. And someone else always inspects the calibration to prevent such errors. It's standard procedure." He continued, almost to himself, "I checked my phase pistol right before I met up with the Nausicaan delegation. It was set on stun." Frustration crept into his voice. "If I had bumped or jostled it during the tour, it could have switched to a different setting by accident. But Ensign Müller checked my weapon afterwards. It was still on stun." He blew out his breath in frustration. "I don't know how it happened, but I made a mistake, and killed a man in cold blood."

"Malcolm, you didn't know what he was going to do. He could have hurt Liz, or other people in that room. You had the power to stop him, and you did." Trip leaned forward, intent to get through to his friend, "We don't know why the shot was lethal, but until Ensign Müller finishes his investigation, it won't do ya any good speculatin'." More softly, he added. "I'm sure it was a technical failure. There's nothing you could've done to prevent it."

Seeing Malcolm's downcast expression, he tried consoling him. "Starfleet will understand the pressure of the situation. It won't hurt your service record."

Malcolm looked up sharply. "You don't understand. I killed him."

"But he was a threat." Trip now sounded confused. He looked at Malcolm, trying to read the man's thoughts. "Don't get me wrong, but…I just thought that you were better at dealing with death than other people. I mean, with your job, there are more risks –-"

"But that's just it, Trip. I have … killed before. Both in space combat and in close quarters. But I always felt that it served an important purpose. Protecting Enterprise and her crew. Tracking the Xindi to save Earth. My own feelings were trivial. Even my life was disposable when…" He held up a hand to stop Trip from commenting, "…it could be used to save someone else. Someone who was more important to the mission."

His thoughts raced back to that moment on the Xindi weapon as it was headed towards a vulnerable Earth. Captain Archer had insisted on staying, so he could finish the detonation that would end the threat they had fought intensely for a year. Malcolm had offered to place the last explosives, but Archer had refused.

Later on, it became clear to him that the captain had wanted to personally end the violent and harrowing mission they had been forced to make. A desperate mission where he lost many friends and colleagues and that had left Enterprise, her captain and remaining crew with scars that were not only physical. It was the journey that had made Malcolm question his core beliefs and principles.

He took a deep breath, and then continued, "I followed orders in the Expanse. It was war. You… sometimes close off a part of you, the part that knows the difference between right and wrong, so you can do what must be done, and not lose your sanity." The last words that left his mouth had a bitter aftertaste. He noticed that his hands had unconsciously curled into fists. "But this is different. This was just a visit to the mess hall. No one should have gotten hurt."

Unable to contain his emotions, Malcolm rose from his bunk, crossed the room and rested a hand on the outer bulkhead. "This was all so senseless." He hung his head. "I feel…. as if I lost something today. A part of myself…" He sighed in frustration and looked back at Trip. "I'm not making much sense, am I?"

Not waiting for Tucker to reply, he laughed self-depracatingly. He felt like getting it of his chest. In for a penny… "I know the rumours on this ship are that the armoury officer loves a good fight or a pretty explosion. But it's not the violence that I enjoy, but my _control _over it. I'll do what I can to prevent hostile forces and madmen from using their aggression on good and decent people."

He crossed his arms and leaned back against the grey bulkhead, his eyes resting on his one-man audience. "I was idealistic and naïve when I started my career, but I still believe that during my time on Enterprise, my goal remained the same. But now, after today, I'm… " Malcolm hesitated. Just say the word, he told himself. There's no shame in acknowledging the truth. "I'm afraid."

He cleared his throat, as something seemed to have clogged there unexpectedly. Then he hoarsely went on, "The thought just keeps returning that, without proper care, I can become that madman. The very thing that I've fought against."

"Malcolm, you're not a madman!" Trip said. "You always act with professionalism and consideration. I wouldn't believe for one second that you'd kill a man in cold blood."

Malcolm nodded slowly, then pensively commented, "Maybe not a madman…but certainly not professional. When I shot Kartaak, and he went down, I was so sure of myself." His voice became more passionate. "I felt as if I had personally saved the situation, and I was secretly pleased that the captain was there to see for himself that strict security was necessary, as I had recommended. But instead of working for the greater good, the need of this ship and its crew, I saw myself as a _hero_." The last words were spat out with vehemence. Then the defiance went out of him, and he rubbed a hand over his face. He softly continued, "Enterprise doesn't need a preening, trigger-happy armoury officer. I'm not worthy of her uniform anymore."

Trip stood up, walked over to Reed and put a hand on his shoulder. "Malcolm, I know you're having a hard time at the moment. Just know that I, and many others here on this ship, have faith in you." He squeezed Reed's shoulder, and then let go. Trip's piercing blue eyes met Malcolm's tired ones. "Now I ask ya to have a little faith in yourself."

Malcolm nodded slowly, grateful for Trip's support. He felt relieved to have finally admitted his worries to his friend, who had accepted them without reproach. And as Trip's words sank in, his head began to clear of the conflicting emotions he had felt for the last hours.

Kartaak was still dead. It was something that he sincerely regretted and mourned. But a small ray of hope was starting to spread through him, making the guilt a little less heavy. He now knew that the Malcolm Reed that he loathed, the one he had described to Trip, could be sent away. If he worked hard on it, maybe sent away for good.

A small smile formed on his lips as he visualized a greasy mirror-Malcolm Reed skulking away into the shadows, shown the door by a stalwart and righteous Malcolm. Okay, maybe he still needed some practice

When he saw Malcolm's expression, Trip returned a hesitant smile. "You okay?"

Malcolm refocused on Trip and nodded again with more confidence. In time, he would be.

Trip's smile widened into a trademark Tucker grin. He looked at the desk, where a now very cold dinner was resting. "Do you wanna go to the mess hall and grab something a bit more appetizin'?" Trip's cheerful mood faltered for a moment, and he quickly continued, "…unless you're tired, I can bring you something here…"

Malcolm held up a hand. "That's fine, Trip. We can go to the mess hall." His friend's obvious relief amused him.

As they left Malcolm's quarters, Trip remarked, "Chef made peach cobbler tonight. If we're lucky…"

Reed interrupted him. "You mean you didn't bring any with you? I thought you knew I liked peach cobbler."

Trip scratched his face. "Well, I thought you weren't that hungry."

Malcolm's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Mr. Tucker, you _weren't_ planning on eating that piece of peach cobbler all by yourself now, were you?"

Trip coughed in his hand. "I guess I had sort of hoped that after talking with you, you'd be more inclined to visit the mess hall for a late-night snack." He smirked and quipped, "You know, a friend-in-need strategy."

Malcolm rolled his eyes as they stepped into the turbolift. "Very well executed. A brilliant master plan."

Trip's good humour was infectious. "I thought so myself." He looked very pleased with himself.

And as the 'lift doors closed, Malcolm could not help but chuckle at his friend's satisfaction. When you are lost, give thanks to the friends who keep searching for the good in you, long after you have given up yourself, Malcolm thought.

888

"Captain's personal log, June 24th 2155.

"After the memorial service for the Nausicaan trader, the Nausicaan crew was able to make the last repairs to their power systems, with some help from Commander Tucker. They left immediately after that, even when I mentioned that an investigation was underway to find the cause of Kartaak's death.

"I must admit I was quite shocked when their captain dismissed my suggestion to report the incident. He said he had seen a lot in his days, and was used to 'quick retaliation for misdemeanors'. He said that Kartaak had crossed a line, and had paid the consequences.

"A few hours ago, Ensign Müller finished his investigation on the shooting. After questioning Crewman Cutler, and with help from Ensign Sato, he reported that an error in the translation must have caused the Nausicaan's hostile behaviour. Cutler's exact words were: 'Do you like your chicken?'

"Perhaps the noise in the mess hall gave the UT some problems. We don't know for sure. But it translated the original message into the Nausicaan equivalent of 'Do you like being a coward?'. I can imagine that did not sit well with him.

"The mistranslation led Kartaak to threaten Crewman Cutler. Lieutenant Reed and Sergeant Kemper both responded as they should have to that threat, but with unexpected consequences. After studying both weapons that were used to incapacitate the Nausicaan, Ensign Müller found a failure in one of the isolinear chips used in the lieutenant's phase pistol. It caused the weapon to randomly rotate its output frequency. So when used, it would have fired anything from a harmless beam to a mutilating lethal ray. Of course, all phase pistols were checked after this discovery, and two more were found with the same degraded chip.

"The fact that several phase pistol isolinear chips were faulty is disquieting. A report will be sent to Starfleet recommending that stricter inspection procedures be implemented, as well as closer supervision of the manufacture of this type of isolinear chip. In the meantime, both communications and the armoury have made recommendations to upgrade their systems with internal safety measures.

"In conclusion, both factors -- the mistranslation and the faulty phase pistol component -- were incidental, but combined they resulted in a violent confrontation, and regrettably, loss of life. That the Nausicaans were able to accept this without protest has been a great relief.

"Lieutenant Reed and Sergeant Kemper are now both back on duty.

"I'm proud of my people, and the dedication they have for this mission. Things do not always work out the way you envisioned them, but our goal remains the same: to reach for the stars for the betterment of mankind. And by overcoming our failings and weaknesses, we find a compass to guide the light of our own conscience.

"Computer, end personal log."

* * *

Please leave a final review! 


End file.
